Caught in the Crossfire
by Miss-murdered
Summary: When Trowa's nephew is threatened by the ruthless father who abandoned him, Trowa needs help in order to fight back and protect both Catherine and the little boy. Things get complicated when both Shinigami and the Perfect Soldier come to his aid as the three men must discover where they stand with each other while they work out a way to protect Trowa's family. Mainly 3x2 but others
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own the GW characters – am just borrowing to torment for my amusement

Warnings: Swearing, yaoi, violence, hints of long past NCS

Pairings: Primarily 3x2, past/presentish 1x2, past 3x4 and 1x3

A/N: Another multi-part fic before I finished posting Domino! Hopefully this won't slow down any updates for Domino and I will try to post updates weekly for both of these. I just managed to write the first two chapters and the whole plan of this in one night – jet lag and switching time zones are really messing with my sleeping pattern!

**Chapter One**

**Knife Skills**

The sound of a scream, the rustle of tent fabric and the sudden heavy movement of booted feet woke Trowa up from a not so deep sleep. For a moment, he thought he was dreaming. He frequently dreamt of death and violence, the past as both a mercenary and a Gundam pilot haunting his sleeping hours while during the daylight he tried to forget. However, the scream was high pitched. Female. And familiar. It took only a few seconds for the gun he slept with to be produced along with the thin knife and for him to jump out of the bed and head out of the temporary tent to the sound of the disturbance.

Catherine and Eli's tent was not far from Trowa's in the circuses temporary structures. He slept separately from them as he lived his life constantly in the presence of his "sister" and nephew that at night it was the only time he could be alone. Solitary. As he had been. Before the war, when he was still nameless, No-Name. The night was cold as he ran, his long legs carrying him the distance swiftly. In the ten years since the war, he'd grown taller, his now 6"4 frame filled out due to his constant training and performances – the trapeze act that the circus had now become famous for. He'd even allowed the Ring Master to use his image on the promotional poster – an image in which he was shirtless. Catherine had nudged him when they saw the proofs and seemed to be either having some kind of spasm or was winking excessively. He had chosen winking as the option.

"You look handsome… you'll get all the girls in with that…"

His shoulders and wrists still ached from the days two performances, his body starting to heal less readily than when he was teenager, the left wrist still strapped up as he had been weary and exhausted after the night's final performance. It didn't help that his sleep was disturbed with the thought of Catherine and Eli. And Alexei Nabokov. Mostly him. The thought of returning to the mercenary boy he'd been, to the blades he'd been so skilled at wielding, the methods of torture he'd been taught often flashed through his head when he thought of Nabokov. And that was all he could think of now.

Trowa could hear the sound of shuffling feet and the tent flap was open to where Catherine and Eli slept. His heart leapt in his chest, heated blood was pumping through his veins and despite the chilled air and the fact he was only dressed in a baggy white t-shirt and shorts, Trowa felt as though he burned. He wouldn't dare. Nabokov wouldn't. He was the master manipulator. He was using the courts, lawyers, the legal system and bribery to claim custody of the five year old boy that he had suddenly taken an interest in that had not been there the prior years. He wouldn't be so… open. So brutal. He had been insidious. Questioning Catherine's suitability as a mother due to her low earnings and using Trowa's life and experiences to try and retrieve custody of the boy. A boy he'd met less than five times in the five years he'd been born. He tried to convince himself that Nabokov wouldn't but with a sickness, he put the knife between his teeth and held out his gun as he entered the tent.

"This is a message from Alexei. I believe he wanted me to say die bitch," the male voice said in heavily accented Russian.

The man's back was turned to Trowa, Catherine was on the floor, the bedding tangled in her limbs and her eyes were full of tears. And with an awful realisation, he saw the small bed, the one with dinosaur bedding was empty. Catherine's big eyes glanced behind the man and she exchanged the shortest of looks with Trowa as he crept up behind him. He gently dropped his weapons to the floor, the man too preoccupied with killing the young woman in front of him to hear the sound of a quiet killer. Trowa approached the man, putting him in what appeared a headlock. The proximity to the man meant that Trowa could smell alcohol, something cheap and the smell of perspiration. The man was a mercenary. His clothing was threadbare and ill fitting. It was lean times for mercs. Peace never was when the money was earned.

"The _brother_…" the man muttered.

"Where are you taking him?"

"To his father…where a boy belongs."

In an instant, Trowa's forceful hands snapped the neck and dropped the man in front of him. Catherine screamed as the body collapsed in front of her. The instantaneous loss of life shocking her in its brutality. Trowa knelt down to his sister, still wrapped in the blankets from her bed and lifted her head up a little more forcefully than was necessary. She was shivering but from shock or cold he was not sure.

"Catherine. How many?"

"Eli…Trowa… they got him."

"I'm aware. How many men?"

Her eyes, watery and large in the darkness looked startled by his tone. He had no time and he knew he was being harsh with her but he needed to leave. Every second was important.

"Four." Her eyes glanced to the body behind Trowa. "Three now."

"Which direction?"

"Back of the tent."

The tents were lined up alongside a wood of interminable size. The Big Top and main attractions were in the clearing that had a main road not far from it. The trailers and tents for the performers and animals were at the back of this, far away from the main road and offered a route directly into the woods. Trowa had not scouted the area, not checked the size of the woods and was unsure if anyone fleeing towards the woods would have to double back on themselves and approach the main road or whether there was a way through. He hadn't needed to know these things for so many years. He was a civilian. A circus performer. An uncle. Not a soldier. Not a mercenary.

He rose to his feet grabbing his weapons and leaving a startled Catherine on the floor. The tent had a rip in it done by a serrated blade, the way the fabric hung showing him that much. Serrated blades. Sadistic sons of bitches.

"Scream, Catherine. Scream as loud as you can."

"Trowa…"

"Get help. Get everyone awake."

"Wha… what are… you going to do?"

"Get him back."

He left, jogging towards the woods, knife in one hand, the gun in the other. For a second there was silence but as he ducked into the trees, the sound of Catherine's screams could be heard.

He smiled, a sad smile on an otherwise expressionless face.

'You will not wish to see this, sister,' he thought.

The men had been noisy around the camp once they'd retrieved their quarry. It was easier for Trowa to think of Eli as something to retrieve. If he thought about the boy, the nephew who idolised him, his shadow then he would lose all sense of reason, all the power he had would be gone and he would be a feral beast thrashing through the woods. He had not been known for infiltration and stealth during the war for no reason. In fact, there was only person he'd ever met who could at least compete – Duo Maxwell for all the jokes and talk was perhaps just as adapt at stealth, though more so in an urban environment.

He stopped for a second once he was completely concealed in the trees and leaned against a trunk, taking a deep breath. The initial heat of the moment had started to evaporate and the sweat on his skin was chilling him to the bone. Or maybe it was the thought of Eli, not in his bed with dinosaur covers and spaceship pyjamas with his mother close by. He tried to banish the thought of Eli being carried by harsh men, men the like that Trowa had known as a boy, for a second he thought he might be sick. The images of his own childhood had flooded to the forefront of his mind. The moments of abuse, the moments he'd been far too young to understand at the time, the hands of drunk and callous men with a boy not old enough to defend himself. He learnt. No-Name learnt but not before things had happened. He steadied himself and took a few deep breaths. That was the life he never wanted for Eli. He stood straight and cocked his head to one side to listen to the world around him.

They couldn't move as fast as he could. He was agile, his body honed and trained, flexible. They were three mercenaries who had drunk cheap booze to get up the nerve to kidnap a little boy and kill a woman. They also had the boy. Unless Eli was knocked out, he couldn't imagine the boy not resisting. It was true Eli was a quiet boy. Catherine often despaired of it when she found him sat with his uncle. They'd fix the Jeeps and trucks that transported the circus performers and equipment. They'd sit together and draw. Eli would watch his uncle train and tell him when he was doing good and bad. They'd look after the lions. She'd smile and pretend she was angry with them. Putting her hands on her hips and pouting she'd look at them.

"What are my two boys up to?"

Trowa would share a small conspiring smile with his nephew which Eli would return as she stalked towards them, grabbing her son for a kiss and a ruffle of hair and leaving Trowa with a touch on his shoulder, his arm. She was very aware of the boundaries of their relationship after the years in close quarters. Maybe now she understood that he needed the space. She had been over-protective towards him for long enough. She did even vaguely regretted throwing the knife at Heero Yuy. Though perhaps not for the startled expression in deep blue eyes. The man who had saved the world, the hero of the free world was someone Catherine had managed to scare with a well-placed knife. She only wished that Alexei had feared her knife throwing skills.

Trowa wished he did. Catherine could be formidable when she wanted to be. As he listened, calming his own breathing, he could determine their direction. They had not gained much of a head start on him. They sounded loud, their boots heavy, movements sloppy and one of them carrying a wriggling child. Indeed, now that his own heart had stopped beating out of his chest and the objectivity could return, he knew they were easy prey. Like his lions, Trowa had been a caged animal for so long, confined to civility and peace, but if he was let out of the cage…

He pursued, his bare feet making his movement virtually silent. He knew he should feel discomfort but his mind was elsewhere, his body was a tool for this mission and he would feel the pain later. He stopped for a second as the voices were suddenly becoming more audible. The men were speaking in Russian and Trowa understood some of the words. His own nationality had been obscure, his own circumstances of birth completely unknown yet he knew from his genetics he was likely of European descent. He could be Russian for all he knew. But that thought chilled him. He wouldn't even want to be born on the same soil as Alexei. He knew some Russian. He knew pieces of many languages. Being among mercenaries meant many nationalities and he learnt any words he could. It had not been to say many of them but to understand what was being said around him. To know when to run. To know when to have a knife to fight back with. Things Eli would never have to learn.

They had stopped and were arguing about direction, Trowa understood enough as he continued his silent approach. The darkness of the night and the trees meant that it was difficult to see but his eyes had adjusted, the stars and a full moon providing enough light for his green eyes. They were not like him. They had torches and they had come into his view. They were doing sweeping arcs around the vicinity. Obviously they were waiting for the rendezvous with their comrade. Listening out for the fourth man in this collection of worthless paid guns. He crouched to the ground to avoid detection as he made his approach to the collection of men.

Two were arguing while the third had deposited Eli on the floor. He looked at his nephew. So like Catherine. He was crying silently, shoulders hunched and sobbing. He remembered saying to Eli that boys didn't cry after a cut on a scrap of metal left lying carelessly around the circus grounds. It was as though boy was taking his advice. It seemed his temperament was a bad influence on Eli. It would help if he'd screamed loudly – as soon as the men had got him from his bed. It would have allowed precious moments for Trowa to be in the nearby tent and have them dead before they left the circus camp. He wouldn't have needed long.

One of the men announced he was going to piss and Trowa watched carefully as he walked away from the group. It made him think of the lions. Predators sought weaknesses, separate and conquer. The man walked unnecessarily far away.

'Bad move,' Trowa thought, he put the gun in the back of the waist band of his shorts with the safety on. There was no need for a gun tonight but he didn't want to lose the reassuring metal of the weapon. Tonight was for his knife. The man found a tree that he'd deemed appropriate. He had obscured himself completely from his comrades which was beyond stupid.

Trowa's steps were not heard as the man went to unzip his fly. His hand had started the movement, the sounds of the zip seemed loud and unnatural against the woods gentle swaying of branches. The man had no time to react as the blade sliced through his neck, the artery severed, his body taking only a few moments to fall and bleed out on the floor. Satisfied with the lack of noise and the effective quickness of his death, Trowa knelt to pat down the man briefly to try and find some information. He found a wallet and he borrowed the dead man's torch to see. The wallet had cash in various currencies – dollars, pounds, Euros and nothing else. He threw it to the ground and stood up, realising his knees were now covered in not just dirt from the floor but blood. There were few seconds before the other two would realise that the man lying dead had not returned swiftly enough so he used the trees for cover, crouching to avoid the torches spinning arcs.

The man with Eli had a hand on the boys shoulder. A hand that Trowa wanted to cut off. His nephew was utterly terrified. Catherine had decided that Eli shouldn't know Trowa's past, there were no stories of mobile suit battles, no stories of gun play and certainly no violence. They had stopped the knife throwing act years before as Eli had got upset when he was too young to understand fully. Why was mommy throwing knives at Uncky Trowa? It made no sense to the boy and upset him. It stopped and Trowa began his solo trapeze act while Catherine worked on the candy concession.

For a second, Trowa doubted Catherine's mothering, the over-protective streak he knew well. Eli had been far too sheltered. Yet he had been complicit. By five, Trowa had already been in a mercenary group so that for him, the fact Eli didn't know blood and pain and death by five was an improvement. He wanted to keep the boy pure. Now Alexei had destroyed that wish. It made him even more sure that the man would never touch the boy again. He may have got Catherine pregnant but Alexei Nabokov was no father. He would die before he got near Eli again.

One of the other men realised his friend had not returned and shouted an order to keep a hold of the boy. Trowa couldn't help the slightest smiles to cross his face. Alexei's mistake had been not to kill him first. If Trowa was dead, Catherine would have quickly followed and his son would be easily obtained. Leaving a former Gundam pilot alive was stupid.

'Never underestimate any of us. This will be your mistake, Alexei. He'll be forever out of your reach after this.'

A beam of torchlight indicated that the man was moving and Trowa stayed hidden. It took only a few moments for him to find the body of his fallen comrade. The knife was raised to repeat the action he'd completed moments before but the man was surprisingly quick. His eyes met Trowa's green, the one visible eye showing a moment of panic. It had been a long time since he'd been involved in close quarter combat and the slowness of his limbs was disconcerting. His injuries and strains from his trapeze acts hampering his abilities from his war time physique. The man died quickly but not before he could shout.

"Run!" the man shouted, a second later the knife slit his throat, the cut less precise and blood spraying over the leaves, tree and Trowa's torso. The men fell but not before the warning was given.

'Shit,' he thought and chased after the sound of running and crashing through undergrowth.

The final man was bright blonde, his hair standing out in the gloom. Trowa ran after him and calculated. The way the man was holding Eli was problematic. He couldn't shoot the man as he ran away as the bullet could go through the body and into Eli. It left only one option. He wanted this over quick. The knife span from his fingers with skilled ease. Catherine wasn't the only one adapt at throwing blades.

A groan was heard as the knife lodged in the man's shoulder blades and Eli was dropped and rolled to the side. Trowa approached his nephew who looked scared and confused. He knelt down to see the boy was uninjured. A few cuts and scrapes but nothing more.

"Eli… I need you to look away. Can you do that for me?"

The boy nodded.

"Look that way," he said pointing towards the other way from the man who was groaning and clawing the ground to get away.

Trowa stood and approached the man, he leant down and grabbed the knife from his back, the scream of pain reverberated loudly. He glanced at Eli who was holding his small hands over his ears and looking in the opposite direction. Trowa forcefully kicked the man over so that he was face up, his eyes were blue, that he noticed as he knelt down and put his knee hard into the man's chest.

The man laughed. "We're only the first."

"I would expect no less of Alexei."

"You can't always protect the boy… he'll get what he wants…he always does."

The man's eyes widened as Trowa drove the knife into the man's heart and then removed it swiftly. The arterial spray started, staining the white t shirt he had slept in, some of his neck and a few splatters on his face. It had been so long since he'd killed but there was still the satisfaction of knowing that these worthless men would not walk the earth. He rose back to his feet, raising bloody hands to his face and then looked over to Eli. He had not looked away for the whole time.

Trowa registered what he would look like. He was covered in other men's blood, in his hair, on his face, the gentle uncle who fixed cars, who drew, was not who Eli had seen. It was the mercenary, the soldier, the killer, the murderer. The monster. He didn't know what to say to the boy, instead, he dropped to his knees next to his nephew and rested his hands gently on shivering shoulders.

"Look at me, it's me, Trowa."

Eli wouldn't look. His eyes darted to where the body was. Trowa's body was obscuring the gruesome image but boy's wide dark eyes were full of unshed tears and his lips trembled.

"They were bad men, Eli. Bad men."

Eli nodded but avoided looking at Trowa.

"Are you tired?"

The boy nodded again.

"Can I carry you back to mommy?"

Little hands suddenly gripped his bloody shoulders and Trowa wrapped his arms around his precious nephew. He lifted him gently into his arms and began to walk back to the circuses camp.

"I'll never let anything happen to you," he said gently, as fingers held tightly to the now red t shirt.

He never would. But right now he would need back up. And there were very few people he would trust to protect Eli. And there was only one he could call.

A man dressed in black with a long rope of hair. The man who had not expected to survive a war and called himself the God of Death. The man with a dubious past and even more dubious present.

He needed Duo Maxwell.

He needed Shinigami.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own the GW characters – am just borrowing to torment for my amusement - also don't own the lyrics to Fever

Warnings: Swearing, yaoi, violence, hints of long past NCS, dark Duo

Pairings: Primarily 3x2, past/presentish 1x2, past 3x4 and 1x3

A/N: Sorry for those who favorited and followed this fic for the delay in updates… as this has less than Domino I'm trying to finish that and do regular Friday updates so this one gets left behind a little. I also changed my mind totally about the Duo chapter I wrote as it was basically too much 1x2 for a 3x2 fic so I abandoned it and rewrote.

Anyway, I have an additional warning for dark Duo… let's say this is Shinigami Duo…

**Chapter Two**

**Fever**

The bar was smoky, bans for the health of customers not cared for in the circles that descended on the discreet gentleman's club simply called Twelve. It was called Twelve due to the number of original members but times had changed since it had opened hundreds of years ago and it now resided in the L1 colony cluster discreetly located above a row of boutiques and expensive jewellery shops. The doorway was inconspicuous, the number 12 only present on the gleaming blackness of the door and it opened to allow entrance up a flight of stairs. The actual club was above the shops – a large dark room with a chrome and black bar down one side with a comfortable and large seating area and a stage at the opposite end to the entrance. There was music playing but it was quiet, a pulsing low rhythm like a heartbeat that shook through the floor and walls, a sensual beat.

Twelve was a very exclusive club that very few individuals were able to attend. To become a member was a complicated process that included already knowing someone in the club who could vouch for the individual and then stretched to how much money could be donated to continue the "high quality entertainment and reputation" of Twelve. The sort of men who attended Twelve could be classed as the great and the good – men who worked in big business, men who had wives and adorable children and men who gave generously to charity. They were the sort of men who justified their actions at Twelve by doing great deeds the rest of the time.

Twelve had so many rules to becoming a member but it was nothing compared to the rules to allowing a guest or a non-member to enter. It was protection for high profile clients – within Twelve they were untouchable and there was no one who could even get near them. Due to these rules, many established members raised an eyebrow when a young man walked through the room wearing a form fitting black outfit. He was unusual in many respects. Firstly in age, most men who entered Twelve were at least in their forties and clearly the man in question was in his twenties. Secondly there was the clothing… tight black jeans, a tight black t-shirt, a fitted leather jacket and large biker boots – the rest of the clientele wore suits or at least smart attire. There were rules about that. Then there was the third reason. The hair. A long chestnut brown braid that cascaded down the young man's back and ended at the thighs. A few of the regular gentleman wanted to know who had invited the young man as their guest. He was intriguing.

A few made the obvious assumption as they glanced at the young man. The men who attended Twelve had various tastes. Some young, some old, some male, some female. The guest definitely had a certain quality to him, a slight androgyny thing that was palatable to some of the men who were perhaps too afraid of a more masculine man but wanted to play. He had no issue with confidence it seemed as he simply strode through the room, fully aware of eyes upon him and walked toward the small round tables situated near the stage. There was one man already seated at a table, before the night's "entertainment" began, and it seemed this was the member who had invited the young man. A gruff old politician, a senator of the L1 cluster in the Earth Sphere Unified Nations parliament looked at his companion, a beautiful young woman with raven hair and wearing very little as he had requested and smiled.

"Marlow's preference," he said, glancing over to the man at the table who was now being joined by the young man.

Henry Marlow was different for many of the men who attended Twelve. He was old European money but had been disowned many years ago. His money was of mysterious origin and he drifted around the colonies. It was rumoured he fought for OZ and personally knew Treize Khushrenada but it was doubtful. Marlow told tales and many tales were not true. He was also younger than the usual clients – he was in his early thirties rather than the usual old men. A few pairs of eyes watched as he greeted the young man as he sat beside him. A hand moved to the denim clad thigh while the other gestured toward a waitress who approached with a deferential smile. The next moment, Marlow seemed to be whispering into the young man's ear who was looking forward as he did.

The man in black denim was former Gundam pilot Duo Maxwell who didn't appreciate how quickly Marlow had become handsy. His hand was on his thigh and it didn't seem to be moving as the man, his breath smelling of booze, leaned in.

"You are as interesting as promised."

"You get what you pay for."

"Hmm… and what exactly did I pay for?"

To play along, he turned his head towards the man, giving a suggestive smirk. "Whatever you want."

Duo could see the man shiver at his words and it had got the required action as Marlow reached out to touch his face, sweeping away the hair there and running the pad of his thumb over his cheek. He tried not to shudder or react in any way – Marlow was meant to be completely clueless of his actual reasons for being here and he was going to keep it that way. Until the hotel room.

The waitress arrived with drinks and Marlow had taken the liberty of ordering him a glass of expensive whiskey so he accepted it.

'Hey, I'm at an expensive gentleman's club,' Duo thought, 'I might as well try expensive whisky.'

As the waitress in the tiny skirt walked away, Marlow slapped her backside with what couldn't be called a gentle swipe. The girl giggled and walked away waving. Duo tried to stop his eyebrows from raising as this was probably normal behaviour – the girls were obviously trained to accept the attentions of the men in the club. He'd seen a sleazy old L1 senator that he recognised from the news feeds with a young black haired girl virtually in his lap. The guy had given him an eye full as he'd walked in. Seemed they were all perverted here.

He took a sip of the drink and realised how intensely Marlow was looking at him. The guy wasn't bad looking, he figured, tall and dressed in a charcoal suit with a red flower in his buttonhole. His dirty blonde hair was slicked back and he had dark brown eyes that seemed to be fixated on his lips and throat as he drunk. It didn't take much guess work to think of what Marlow was thinking but Duo only hoped he could hold everything off until the hotel room. Until he had the privacy to work.

"I suggest we stay for the entertainment and then depart…?"

"It's your night…I'm yours to do what the hell you like with."

"Oh…I think I can think of a lot of things… Max."

Max was the least subtle name he could pick but this wasn't about subtlety. When Cypher had sent him the specs of the job, the files, the photographs, he'd just packed his bag up and left to L1. He'd just said use Max as his name as an afterthought. He didn't really care anymore. He'd long since stopped being careful about what he did. Maybe he'd got cocky. Or maybe he just knew Heero was around to sort out his messes electronically. Between Cypher and Heero, his occupation and life as it was now had remained hidden from the Preventers and local authorities.

His train of thought was stopped as music started at a louder volume, a girl had come out wearing the tightest black dress he'd ever seen and approached an old fashioned microphone with stand. The club was going for a vibe of vintage glamour – a vintage so old that it predated the colonies as the music started. It was a very old song that started, an old rhythm that was unlike the usual music of that sort of clubs that Duo found himself in. The girl had bright red lips and was standing off centre to the stage leaving a single spotlight in the middle waiting for the other part of the entertainment to arrive.

She started singing, her voice husky and erotic. Duo noticed that a lot more of the tables had become occupied around them. Old men with young women. He saw a couple men with young men who screamed male hooker – they'd gone for eyeliner, mesh t-shirts, shorts. He wasn't going to stoop that low for a cover and plus, it seemed Marlow had only one preference. Long hair. And that he had plenty of.

"_Never know how much I love you, never know how much I care, when you put your arms around me, I get a fever that's so hard to bare, you give me fever."_

On starting the lyrics, another girl started walking into the middle of the stage wearing a lot less clothing than the singer. She wore something that looked like it was made of diamonds, or at least a cheap version, a short dress that shimmered as she walked to the centre of the stage.

"Ever seen the ancient art of burlesque?"

"No," Duo replied.

He'd never been remotely attracted to girls and his first sexual experience, though very unpleasant and he'd been far too young, had been with a man and every one after. He could appreciate women in a vague way but never anything sexual. It was why Hilde probably still hated him.

"Then let me explain," Marlow said smoothly and Duo glanced down as the older man's hand was now rubbing further up his thigh. Fuck. He had a feeling that this was turning the other man on and he feared a men's room blowjob might be requested of him. He had no intention of doing that and he had no intention of getting Marlow alone until the hotel room. That was the point he could safely get his blades out and do what he was meant to be doing.

"Burlesque is not about the stripping… it's about the tease. Yes, the girl gets naked," at this point the girl was removing her garter down her thigh with a little wink towards the audience, "but she does so in a way that is, shall we say, less degrading."

"You can't convince me this ain't just stripping," Duo replied turning his eyes towards Marlow who had a disturbingly hungry look in his eyes.

"Well, watch, Max and see what you think. Perhaps you learn some moves to use in my suite later."

He sat back in his chair, removed the hand from Duo's thigh and folded his arms across his chest. Slightly relieved, Duo took another sip of his whisky and watched the girl remove the dress, slowly, down her body, a smile on her face. The song seemed to be reaching some sort ending as she put her hair down, stood in only sparkly underwear that didn't cover much of her pale skin. She ran her fingers through hair, sensually smiling at the audience and Duo glanced across at Marlow. He figured he probably wanted that move – no lover had ever got him to put his hair down. Not even Heero in their years of being on and off. He could figure every guy wanted it, he supposed they wanted to see how it felt over their bodies but he never had. Never would. It involved trust to do that and sure as hell, he'd never trusted anyone with that part of himself. Heero had come close but that was years ago. Before the Rio mission.

_"He gave me fever, with his kisses, fever when he holds me tight, fever."_

Duo felt himself shiver despite the heat of bodies in the club. He tried not to think about Heero Yuy and how their lives had ended up in the mess that they were. They'd been together for two years after the wars, lived together, joined the Preventers and then seemed from the outside, happy. He had been happy for a time but they were explosive as a couple, liable to fight and argue, then the mission in Rio tore them apart. They tried for some time afterwards but they couldn't look each other in the eye anymore. Sex without kissing, without looking at each other, hands close to strangling each other rather than just holding. He still saw Heero, still cared for him, but they got too close to nearly killing each other if they tried to fuck that they stopped it. He supposed he had to thank the asshole despite himself and everything that had happened between them. The wire transfers he sent at the end of each of his jobs was his way of showing he still gave a damn. A way he tried to keep Heero in the land of the living instead of descending back into the coldness of the Perfect Soldier. He wasn't sure it worked but it made him feel better.

_"Fever til you sizzle, what a lovely way to burn. What a lovely way to burn."_

It was then Duo realised he'd been staring at the bottom of his own whisky glass and there was clapping and whooping around him as the girl now had no clothing on apart from the sparkly thong. The song finished, the men around him clapped as the girl bowed and then walked off the stage in a very sultry fashion.

"Didn't interest you?" Marlow asked, an eyebrow quirked.

"Not into chicks."

"Good… neither am I."

Marlow stood and he offered his hand to Duo who took it and stood up. He had to play along and it seemed an old concept of chivalry was something Marlow did. Another song was starting, a similar old fashioned sound and Marlow pulled Duo forward, forcing him close and almost making him lose his balance from the sudden movement. Marlow smirked as it had forced him into his arms.

"I can't wait to have you," he whispered.

Duo tried to think of the sort of slutty thing he should say but his mind went blank so instead, he lifted his head to the taller man and gave a quick teasing brush of his lips. It seemed it kept Marlow interested and unable to see his real intentions and that was what he needed.

"Back to my suite?"

"Whatever you say."

They exited Twelve with a few glances but Duo wasn't sure whether it was him or Marlow brazen attitude. He had an arm around his waist which made it slightly difficult to walk and they'd nearly got out of the bar when he heard a cough and Marlow had stopped in front of a booth with the senator from L1 that Duo had recognised.

"Leaving so early, Marlow?"

"I'll leave you men to the rest of the evening's entertainment… since I'm the only one young enough in here to get it up, I plan on spending an evening with my charming companion."

"And where did you buy him?"

Duo stiffened and was tempted to knock the lights out of the old senator but knew he needed to act tame… companionable.

"Oh, senator, wouldn't you like to know."

With this exchange, they left the club, descending the stairs and out into the night air of the colony. The air never felt fresh in a colony like it did on earth but Duo appreciated it after the heat and smoky atmosphere of Twelve.

"This way," Marlow instructed as they walked away from Twelve along the boutique lined street.

"No limo?"

"No, Max. I'm sure you've heard of the Grand Royale?"

"The super fancy hotel?"

"Yes, that's the one. I have the penthouse suite and I thoroughly intend enjoying you on every surface of it."

They arrived at the Grand Royale quickly, Marlow keeping a hand on him at all times during the walk as Duo began to feel his heart racing. Marlow thought he was the weak one in the situation, the prey, ready to be taken, used and devoured without complaint. Little did he know it was in fact Marlow that was the prey.

The knife he kept in his boot was serrated, the one attached to his left thigh a simple blade but just as lethal. Once they arrived at the penthouse suite, Marlow removed his suit jacket and motioned for Duo to remove his leather jacket. Duo could feel his heart beating faster as he removed the jacket and watched as Marlow approached the mini-bar to pour two glasses of whisky from a glittering decanter and added ice.

"A little drink before…?"

"I thought you had plans for me."

"Well, a little alcohol relaxes the soul."

He took the glass, swirled the drink around and took a sip looking up at the other man. Marlow stepped closer, a hand now in the back pocket of his jeans and Duo tried to not look uncomfortable. He was meant to be used to doing this and he still had to wait a few more moments before he struck. Blue eyes glanced towards the large four poster bed and then back towards the man.

"Want to get comfortable?" Duo asked, trying to be as suggestive as possible.

"Aren't you eager?"

"Well, you've paid for the night with me, you don't want me to just raid the minibar, do you?"

Marlow laughed. "No, of course not."

He began to walk towards the bed, starting to loosen the tie around his neck as he did but noticed that Duo hadn't moved from his current position. He jumped onto the bed and patted a space next to him.

"Aren't you joining me?"

"Sure am," he said, placing the glass down and stalking towards the bed.

'Any minute now,' Duo thought as the other man's defences were completely down.

The older man reached out as he arrived at the bed, Duo deciding to stand in between the other man's spread legs rather than sit on the bed. Marlow had got rid of his shoes and Duo was conscious he was still in his boots as he'd needed access to his knife when he got to this point.

The kiss was something he'd wanted to entirely avoid as Marlow had leaned forward and it was rough, unyielding, demanding. He pushed the other man back whose eyes were heavy lidded.

"Back on the bed," Duo instructed.

"I thought it was whatever I wanted?"

"You're getting what you want."

Marlow raised his eyebrows but followed Duo's instructions, moving to lie back on the bed and removed some of the large pillows onto the floor. Duo leaned down to his boots taking them off and grabbed the serrated blade, holding it behind his back as he followed the other man to the bed. He straddled the body, feeling that Marlow was hard, ready, waiting for him.

"So what now, Max?"

"Do you remember a girl?"

"I thought we discussed that I wasn't interested in women…"

"No, you were interested in her. She was thirteen. She was loved."

Brown eyes widened suddenly as the conversation had changed. He struggled for a second but Duo pushed the man down to bed with his hands firmly and forcefully on Marlow's chest. It was then that Marlow realised that the young man above him despite being shorter and seemed weaker, was in fact stronger. And he also noticed that one hand held a large serrated blade.

"Who the hell are you?"

"I'm your nightmare," Duo said, twirling the blade in his hand.

"Who hired you?"

"Does it matter, Henry? You killed her. You beat her so hard that they found the imprint of your ring in her face and all over her body. But because you're a rich and influential asshole, they let you go, didn't they?"

"There was no evidence! No proof!"

"Isn't this proof?" Duo ran the knife over the man's face, making the shallowest of cuts, a slight amount of blood falling from the man's cheek. "You're terrified."

"I'm terrified because I assume you are about to kill me and I am fond of being alive."

"Did you think she was? She was thirteen, Henry… thirteen is too young to die. What was she called? Do you remember that?"

"Kristina Marshall."

"Good… maybe you have some fucking remorse."

"And will you have remorse for this… Max?"

"For you? No fucking way."

The stab straight through the heart was quick and with a lot of power. Duo had been doing this long enough to know how to do this and also the surprising amount of strength and pressure required. He left the knife there for a second and leaned back, seeing the last few moments of life as blood started to flow and pool over the hotel's sheets. He then grabbed his knife and then jumped off the bed, walking back towards the minibar and downed what he'd left of his whisky. Straight after the kill, there was an adrenalin but in a few seconds he'd be feeling as shitty as he always did so he hoped the alcohol might at least make him feel something.

He walked over to the large window and then grabbed his cell phone from his back pocket and dialled.

"You have reached the fountain of all knowledge and all that is awesome, speak mortal."

"Cypher… it's me."

"Is it done?"

"Yup… Henry Marlow has bled out on the bed of the Grand Royale."

"So you getting out of there, kiddo?"

Duo sighed. Cypher was only a few years older than him so he resented the kiddo thing. He'd always been kid or kiddo in his time being a Sweeper and had hated it then. He hated it now even more as a twenty six year old man but he let it slide.

"What did they want?"

"Huh?"

"Cypher, geez, you'd think you weren't used to doing this shit. What proof did they want?"

"The right hand ring finger."

"Makes sense."

"He doesn't happen to still wear the ring?"

"Nope."

"Shame. You could've taken that as well."

"Well, I'd love to chat Cypher but, you know, I've got a finger to remove and a scene to get outta."

"You got your com-jammer?"

"You think I'm an amateur?"

"Naw, Duo, you're just a cocky son of a bitch."

"Thanks but I gotta go."

"Check in when you're off L1."

"Will do, Cyph."

"Keep yourself outta trouble," Cypher said finally and Duo cut the call.

"Always try to but trouble always finds me," he said to himself.

Duo walked across the room to the body, his hands behind his head and looked at the body in front of him. This was the least fun part. He grabbed the hand and laid it out on the bed. It wasn't every job that wanted proof, sometimes they just wanted to know the person was dead but he'd known the Marshall family had wanted something tangible – a little bit of revenge for their beautiful girl. He got it. Vengeance and anger was powerful shit.

Cutting off a finger was no worse than a lot of things he'd done but it was still something he didn't enjoy doing. He made the cuts quickly and then thought about how to get it out of the room. He didn't intend putting a finger in his jeans pocket or leather jacket – instead he walked over to the empty whisky glass and put some ice from the ice bucket in before wrapping the whole thing up in a towel. It didn't look innocent but he didn't care. His com-jammer had cut the security cameras feed when he'd arrived at the Grand Royale. They now were showing nothing but snow and white noise and he knew the jammer was powerful enough to confuse the security company – at least for a little while.

He grabbed his leather jacket and was about to leave the room – not caring for any DNA evidence left or traces of him. Heero had made sure his DNA data was mysteriously corrupted every time and somehow Cypher managed to pay someone off somewhere to "lose" any relevant evidence of his kills but it didn't stop him from feeling unsettled as he looked at the body on the bed. Then his phone rang, the buzzing vibration in the back of his pocket insistent and annoying.

There were three people who had his number. One was Cypher who'd he'd just spoken to. The other was Heero and he sure as hell had no reason to speak to that asshole. The other, surprisingly even to him, was Trowa Barton. Out of all of the former Gundam pilots, Trowa was the one he knew least and until six months ago, he couldn't remember ever having a real conversation with. Quite simply, Duo never got Trowa Barton and assumed he never would. Until six months ago and a call had come through asking for some financial help for a lawyer. Understanding that Trowa couldn't go to Quatre and being pretty screwed up about his own large finances due to his less than legal occupation, Duo wired some cash after hearing the story about the nephew and a lengthy legal battle. After wiring the money, he didn't expect to hear from him again.

Until now. He glanced at his phone to see it was Trowa.

"Hey," he answered.

"Duo?"

"The one and only. What's up, Trowa?"

"I need help."

"Money? I can wire you –"

"Nabokov just tried to have Catherine killed and Eli kidnapped."

There was only one word that came out of Duo's mouth.

"Shit."


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own the GW characters – am just borrowing to torment for my amusement

Warnings: Swearing, yaoi, violence, hints of long past NCS, dark Duo

Pairings: Primarily 3x2, past/presentish 1x2, past 3x4 and 1x3x1

A/N: For the purpose of this fic I'm going with the thing that Trowa and Catherine might be related but they don't know…

**Chapter Three**

**Finding Duo**

The truck was one of the circus vehicles that could be spared. Trowa glanced in the mirror to the back seat to see that Catherine had finally fallen asleep with Eli in her lap, her fingers wrapped in the boy's hair. He looked back to the dash to see the amount of miles he'd put between them and the circus location as he headed randomly further out of Prague. He'd not been tactical, he'd just picked a direction and started driving and would stop when he felt there was enough distance to make him feel at least somewhat secure. Now that Catherine was asleep, he slowed the truck down and started to find a dirt path or somewhere to pull up that would be inconspicuous and make a call. He shook his head ruefully, it felt like hiding Heavyarms though that had been considerably bigger and had needed more thought than the truck.

The call had waited. He didn't have time after he'd retrieved Eli and brought him back to the circus camp. A crowd had gathered of people in various degrees of disarray having being woken so suddenly as he emerged from the trees. Catherine ran towards him but stalled as she saw the figure in front of her. Eli's arms were very tight around Trowa's neck, small fingers clutching at the hair at the back of his head. The boy hadn't said a word as he walked deliberately out of the woods and Trowa didn't say anything either. Was he supposed to comfort the boy? How could he explain to a five year old that what he had done was completely necessary? How did he explain that he wasn't a cold hearted killer?

He'd said at the end of the war that he never wanted to kill again. He'd refused the Preventer offer for that reason – the so called peaceful organisation seemed to be built on a lie of pacifism while agents went out in the field armed with guns and licenses to kill. Heero and Duo had joined the Preventers and it had ended their tumultuous relationship - a testament to the strain that the organisation put on their agents. They'd left the Preventers long ago unable to continue within it after a disastrous mission in Rio. A mission Trowa only knew about after a broken Heero Yuy turned up at the circus, unable to look Duo in the eye anymore and in search of someone who would understand. Trowa couldn't understand but had offered a body and a bed. It was all he was able to do.

Trowa's hands were shaking slightly as he drove, his body a confused mix of adrenalin and endorphins. Catherine hadn't been able to look at him since he'd appeared from the woods. She'd taken Eli off him with fierce protective hands, cradling the boy and running her fingers over him and repeating words like "it's all okay" over and over again. Trowa knew how he looked. The blood and dirt had caked his skin and he felt the awful look in Catherine's eyes. She never wanted him to be that boy who had been unafraid of death, who maybe even welcomed it, that boy without fear or identity.

"Pack up," he'd said to her, simply.

He was trying not to cause a scene even as he knew the glances he received. The old circus performers knew the past of the former Gundam pilot and for them the fact that he had appeared covered in blood was less shocking than to the newer members who knew the quiet man who looked after the lions and did a solo trapeze act.

"Trowa…"

"Pack up."

He knew he was speaking to her harshly as he walked back into the camp, eyes trained on him, making him feel more than a little uncomfortable. Trowa had spent most of his life being no one, invisible and occasionally another person. He was the master of blending in, of being inconspicuous despite his height and physique.

"We leave tonight."

"But… Trowa! Eli's terrified!"

That wasn't difficult to see. Catherine had tears in her eyes and the boy's tight grip was now on his mother's arms, small hands tightly holding skin, afraid to let go. Green eyes looked to see the focus was all on them. He knew some of the newer performers had thought them a couple and that Eli was his own son – a mistake that got made frequently as it seemed very few people could coax a response from Eli and fewer could get more than three words from Trowa. It appeared like they were having a lovers tiff for the other performer's amusement. If not for the amount of blood that stained his clothes and the terrified child, it might have convinced some that they were.

He lowered his voice and moved closer to Catherine. He looked around at the people watching, thinking of any of the new performers. There wasn't a war and he no longer checked up on people to check their identities but he didn't like the way some of them looked at him. He tried to remind himself that he was covered in blood but Nabokov could easily infiltrate the circus. Old war time paranoia had resurfaced and all Trowa wanted to do was get moving _now _but Catherine's hesitancy was frustrating.

"Alexei just tried to have you killed. He tried to kidnap Eli. We need to get somewhere safe."

She blinked, processing the information. "And where's safe, Trowa?"

"Away from here," was all he could offer.

They'd packed up and gone, Trowa throwing away the t-shirt and shorts and washing away as much of the blood as possible. They didn't have time and he didn't shower. The blood felt rusty and cloying underneath his nails as he tapped the steering wheel, his head bowed as he looked down at the side of the road trying to find a location to stop for a break. His eyes were blurred and he was no longer safe to drive, the sun would be up in a few hours and he did not feel like stopping the vehicle in sunlight knowing that they should keep moving during the daylight hours. He found a dirt path that seemed to veer off into a forest and he abruptly turned the vehicle, he saw Catherine and Eli shift but they didn't stir. Sleep like that had been impossible for Trowa for years. He drove a little way off and then stopped the engine and for a moment leaned his head back in the seat rest, taking a deep breath. He wasn't sure where he was. He was unsure of what he was trying to achieve but all he wanted was distance. He undid his seatbelt and opened the trucks door as quietly as possible, jumping down and saw that Catherine had opened her eyes. Trowa nodded at her and she shut her eyes again.

The sky was clear as he walked a short distance from the truck and then got the phone from his pocket, he'd turned it off to retain battery power and waited as it buzzed into life. The signal should have been poor from this location but Trowa was raised to adapt things – he'd boosted the signal and tinkered with the thing as he could never guarantee where in the world he would be and whether he would need to make contact. It would seem strange to his war time self that he was contacting pilot 02. During the war, Duo was the one pilot he didn't really get opportunity to spend any time with and plus, his first impression had been that the Deathscythe pilot was loud and brash. Their personalities were perhaps far too different for a friendship and he had never made any attempt to make a connection with him.

After the war, he'd been with Quatre and Duo had been with Heero. They met up from time to time and socialised but there had been no opportunity to become friends during that period. Heero had been possessive of Duo and to say he had trust issues would have been playing down the way that relationship had worked. It had been like watching fireworks up close – they spent two years destroying each other in a volatile and violent relationship that concerned every person who ended up in the unfortunate position of seeing any kind of disagreement between them. After the mission in Rio, he'd known that Duo had disappeared and there was no knowledge of his movements after that.

It was six months ago that Trowa had first found Duo Maxwell again.

When Alexei made his first attempt to get custody of Eli, they'd sought legal counsel but the vast sum of money they needed was beyond the meagre wages they earned from the circus. They didn't need to earn money in the circus as food, transportation and housing was provided and subsidies for that were taken from their salaries. Trowa knew he could probably still hack into funds but was aware that he was living a normal legal life and plus he feared that if anything came back to him, Alexei could use it as more ammunition. The legal papers had featured a very damning report on his life and his potential mental health issues without anything new to add.

Instead, he needed people he could trust. Heero drifted and resurfaced occasionally but at this time he was impossible to locate with his computer skills that superseded all of them combined. Duo had disappeared. Quatre was easy to find but after their bitter break up, Trowa would not contact him unless he ran out of options. Wufei was a tenured professor and cut himself off from the former Gundam pilots. They had become scattered, lost to each other and themselves. It was with the knowledge of the other former pilots that he found himself attempting to find Duo Maxwell – the one who had tried to keep them together in the very beginning.

The first port of call had been Hilde Schbeiker but that had been pointless. She hadn't seen him for years and didn't appreciate his name being brought up – it seemed there was still bad blood between the pair. The second call had been somewhat more successful. The Sweepers had some knowledge and Howard had seen "the kid" two years previously which was the most recent contact that anyone seemed to have had with Duo. He'd needed a shuttle for some unknown reason – Howard didn't ask and Duo didn't tell. Howard hinted that whatever Duo was doing now it was a lot less than legal and he was living off grid. He moved around but drifted back to L2. Howard suggested that if he was to be found, that he would be found in the L2 cluster doing "something" and so Trowa started logically. Hacking into the shuttle port security feed.

Using facial recognition software, he got a match for Duo arriving back on L2 and froze the image. The former Deathscythe pilot hadn't changed dramatically in the eight years since they'd met. Braid still in place though hidden down the back of a jacket, baseball cap on his head, taller, filled out more – basic things that happened now that they weren't boys but men – but essentially Duo looked the same, just older. The next stage was trickier as he hacked into various cameras around L2 from the date he arrived onwards, tracking movements as best as he could. Most colonies had advanced surveillance systems, improved even more so after the wars and the paranoia of potential terrorists threats rising again. Unfortunately, L2 as the least reputable and least wealthy colony had a less advanced system so movements got lost once Duo left the main hub of the colony and went wherever he went. It seemed a frustrating job trying to track Duo down and he briefly thought about burying pride and contacting Quatre. The thought of going back to Quatre after the bitterness of their break up and asking for money horrified him enough to double his efforts of finding Duo.

A lucky break came when a particular camera was fixed outside the main nightclub and bar area and he managed to match the recognition software five times to one particular place. Then it was a case of getting a message to the bar owner to pass on to Duo. He wasn't aware if Duo was going by Duo Maxwell or an alias. His name popped up in databases prior to his disappearance and then vanished. He didn't travel, purchase things electronically or indeed, pay taxes, own bank accounts or have medical or life insurances. His Preventer file was marked closed and it was as Howard had said; he'd dropped off the grid.

Trowa sent a cryptic message via a confused bar owner who did know a man with a long braid. Least Duo had kept that distinctive feature.

**_/02 – Status?_**

**_Old comm channel. _**

**_03./_**

The old comm channels were heavily encrypted but were still working. Trowa routed it to his cell phone and waited. It seemed it didn't take long. The message had made Duo just as curious as Trowa had intended – perhaps for the same reasons Trowa himself found it weird that he was contacting him out of any of the other former Gundam pilots. They had no connection apart from fighting a war. They would never have been friends. They were too different.

And now he was contacting him again. He selected the details in his phone and waited, the slow process of finding satellites and patching through the call taking time. Duo was usually colony bound, he hated being "dirt side" as he called it and that had been a notorious thorn in the Yuy-Maxwell relationship. Heero wanted to live in Sanc. Duo wanted to live in the colonies. Heero got his way. From the best of Trowa's knowledge, Heero had always seemed to get his way but he understood that. He'd been in a relationship with a very domineering and controlling man just Quatre did so in an entirely different way than Heero. The click of the line connecting stopped his thoughts.

"Hey," a familiar voice answered.

"Duo?"

"The one and only. What's up, Trowa?"

"I need help."

"Money? I can wire you –"

"Nabokov just tried to have Catherine killed and Eli kidnapped."

"Shit."

There was a pause on the other end of the line and Trowa didn't know what to say. He was a man of few words and he found phone conversations more challenging than vidphones. Least he could see the person then.

"Where are you?" Duo asked finally.

"We were outside Prague… I took a truck and left the circus."

"You think it could've been someone in the circus?"

"No… I don't know," he said, the weariness in his voice showing his lack of sleep, "they were mercs, Duo. Four mercs."

"Jesus. They get away?"

"No."

He heard a low chuckle. "Least that's one thing."

Trowa didn't think it was a laughing matter but the chuckle wasn't humorous. It was dark. Cold. Slightly chilling.

"I killed them in front of Eli. He saw."

He didn't know why he said it but he heard an intake of breath on the other end of the line. Maybe Duo would understand. He didn't honestly know. He didn't know him well enough.

"Tro'…you did the right thing. Mercs would've done much worse and, hell, you have no idea what'll happen if fucking Nabokov got his hands on the kid. Don't beat yourself up. We all got too much blood on our hands."

"I don't know where to go."

"Just keep moving – usual shit, Tro'. No credit cards. Dump cars. Disguise yourselves. Back roads, you know this, man."

"I know."

"Give me some time… I'll get you some fake ID docs and cash and I'll be dirt side in a couple of days. Hide yourself until then and I'll be in touch."

"Duo…"

"Trowa, don't say my name like that. You need help. He sent four mercs and he underestimated you. What the fuck is he going to next time? You need back up."

He wished he could just nod as he was finding the telephone conversation difficult. "Okay."

"Now just keep 'em safe. I'll be in touch as soon as I can get some shit done, 'kay?"

"Thanks."

"Don't thank me yet, Tro'."

The call disconnected and Trowa blinked at the phone in his hand. It seemed weird to him that Duo had just disconnected the call without anything else but then perhaps the braided man wasn't as talkative. The slang was still there, the swearing was still there but that cold laugh had been chilling.

He put the phone back in his pocket and pulled himself back into the truck to see Catherine's eyes open. Eli was still curled in her arms, his chest rising and falling in sleep.

"Who did you call?"

"Duo. He'll be here in a few days."

She let out a huffy breath. Trowa knew Catherine's opinions on the former Gundam pilots and while she could be nothing more than grateful for the money that the braided man had sent, she did not have to like any of them. They reminded her of a time when Trowa was nothing but ready to die. And she would never feel anything but hatred for Quatre Winner. Trowa may have got over the break up but Catherine hadn't. It had been like living with a zombie. Worse. Indeed, least a zombie tried to eat people rather than just mechanically move around. She never wanted Trowa to become like that again. Those other pilots were chaos and violence. She remembered Duo as the one who tried to persuade Trowa back into the fight – the one who was with Heero after. While she had no real reason to hate Duo Maxwell, she didn't like him by default but she tried not to say anything to her brother as she stroked the hair of her son.

The truck started again, rumbling underneath them, and Catherine sighed loudly. "Where are we going now, Trowa? You need to rest. You've driven through the night."

"We keep moving."

"Trowa…you are not a soldier anymore. You need to rest, please, Trowa, think of us. You are no use to us bleary eyed and sleep deprived."

His eyes met hers through the rear view mirror as he started reversing back the path. It was the first time she'd looked him in the eye since he'd snapped the mercs neck. There was that old sisterly concern there. He knew that Catherine wasn't his biological sister but he'd long since accepted that she was family. And the little boy was not blood but he was _his _to protect.

"We'll find a hotel," he offered, blandly.

"Good. You need to sleep, little brother."

He gave her a small smile through the mirror and she gave him a small one back. It meant that she was beginning to accept what he'd done. Trowa hadn't wanted to kill again but he was sure by the end of this, his hands would be covered in blood once again.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I don't own the GW characters – am just borrowing to torment for my amusement

Warnings: Swearing, yaoi, violence, hints of long past NCS, dark Duo

Pairings: Primarily 3x2, past/presentish 1x2, past 3x4 and 1x3x1

A/N: Hope people are enjoying this fic as I' m really liking writing this one... I know its a bit slow at the moment but bear with me as I'm setting everything up...

**Chapter Four**

**No More Old Times**

The shuttle port bar was a clean bright chain where tourists drank their first beers and businessmen spent the few minutes of respite drinking scotch. Duo didn't like chain places – he hated those restaurants that were the same whether you were on L5 or Honolulu and he hated bars like this. He liked dive bars with old fashioned juke boxes, he liked places with pool tables and thick dust and dirt and grimy beer glasses. He liked a world that was lived in, dirty as they were the sort of places he belonged. The bright lighting, the cheerful laminated cocktail menus and the presence of young bartenders in white polo shirts all felt wrong and fake. He fucking hated places like this.

There were two beers in front of him, the red and white label on his own had been peeled off as he waited feeling anxious. There were certain things he relied on in his chaotic and violent life. One of them was Heero Yuy's amazing dedication to punctuality and appearing when he needed him. That was Heero all over – steady, reassuringly unmovable, predictable. Maybe not this time.

Duo drank a little more beer and tried to stop himself from peeling the back label on the bottle. He'd heard it was a sign of sexual frustration, one of those urban myth things and then his mind turned back to Heero which usually happened when the thought of sex popped into his brain. It had been a while. He knew he should have just screwed Cypher instead of sleeping on his lumpy and uncomfortable couch. His neck was hurting from the awkward angle that he'd had to sleep. He'd grown taller in his late teens and his frame was not suited for sleeping on couches. But he hadn't being that he always felt Heero saw right through him – he'd judge him with cold blue eyes and an expression made of stone.

He'd stayed at Cypher's place last night – crashed in the warehouse with the metallic doors and the computer screens that covered one wall and given him the finger of a dead man to package up and send to earth. His life was surreal. The journey between L1 and L2 had been short due to the relative closeness between the two colony clusters but had been spent in a cargo hold. He'd made so many contacts in the criminal community over the years that he always had someone to pay off and hide him. Those times he didn't he used any number of fake ID documents and passed through shuttle ports undetected. He hadn't been just Duo Maxwell since he walked out of the apartment that he and Heero shared in Sanc after realising Heero wasn't coming back. Cypher was good enough to make him into anybody he wanted and was as near as he got to having a friend in his new life.

Cypher was a computer otaku, his large black framed geek glasses and hair with heavy bangs made him cute in a non-threatening way. Duo wasn't into submissive men. He seemed to always fall and fall hard for men who could be best described as aggressive. The worst they could be described as would be assholes. He had a thing for toxic and damaged men. He supposed that was the mark that Heero Yuy had left on his life.

Duo had got his own new fake ID docs, got Cypher to research Nabokov thoroughly and then Cypher had been working with his dirt-side contacts to get Trowa and "family" some reasonable quality ID's.

"They won't be as good as mine but, you know, they'll have to do."

"Guess so," Duo replied and went to shower as Cypher worked.

He got bored watching people on computers. He was a very competent hacker but Cypher was plugged in. He'd rarely seen the guy away from his wall of his computers and was constantly wired. Duo wondered if Cypher slept.

He'd showered, using Cypher's place like it was his own. He'd spent enough nights on the man's couch to know how the shower worked. Where he could find something to eat. He found energy bars – Cypher didn't do real food and plopped himself down on the couch.

"I can get someone to Prague to hand over ID docs and shuttle tickets," Cypher said.

"Someone good?"

"Not as good as I'd like but…"

"Can we trust them?" Duo asked, not looking up.

He was fiddling with the end of his braid. He was feeling hollow after the kill and weird about packing up his life to go help Trowa Barton. And also the inevitable thing he needed to do. Contacting Heero.

They'd agreed on the contact, the girl who called herself Lily which seemed a little too cutesy for Duo's liking and then he'd contacted Trowa. He was calmer this time. Duo had not thought he was the sort to get panicked but in their last brief phone call Trowa hadn't sounded like the man he used to know… he sounded scared. Anxious. Tired. Frustrated. Duo had never had a family to care about. The nearest he'd ever got to someone that he could consider as family was Heero. And that was a strange and messed up thought.

"You need to get to Prague, Tro'. We got a contact – she's gonna get you ID docs, some cash and plane tickets."

Duo explained the exact details of the rendezvous with the girl and the red flower she was going to wear in her black hair. They went through the next phases of the plan, the flight they were going to take and times, the rental car that would be waiting on the other side, the location where they would be safe and meet up with him. Trowa hadn't said anything but yeses and fines and okays during the conversation. The emotionless voice monotone.

"Look after yourself, Tro'. I'll be dirt-side soon."

Duo shook his head as he got no response and turned off his cell phone and borrowed one of Cypher's laptops to contact Heero.

Now he was waiting. He had finished his own beer and glanced to the one he'd bought for Heero. It could've been that he didn't get the message. Duo used his old 02 comm channel and encryption when he contacted Heero and he didn't know how Heero accessed his own comm channel. Usually, he heard from the former Wing pilot almost instantly after a message. A phone call on his cell. An email. A text message. Something. This time he'd got nothing but somehow he always expected Heero to just turn up.

"Mr Motherfucking Reliable," he swore under his breath as he decided to reach for the other beer. No point in wasting it.

He had no luggage with him for the flight. He didn't even carry a duffle bag like he had during the war. Just an olive green backpack that fitted in a few clothes, his newest fake ID from Cypher and the tablet computer that held all the information he had found about Trowa's situation and Alexei Nabokov. The only other thing apart from the wallet in his back pocket, the cell phone in the front one, was the key for the apartment in Sanc that he hadn't stepped foot in for seven years. Their apartment.

Least if Heero didn't turn up then he wouldn't have to talk to him about holding onto their one time home. It was one of his rare moments of deceit. It wasn't a lie as such as he'd not said anything to Heero. All he'd done was wired the money that would've equated to half the sale value and kept the place. He sometimes wasn't sure why he had. He had to pay the buildings maintenance fee and a cleaner who went in monthly. It seemed stupid. It was the only home he'd ever had.

He raised the bottle to his lips and nearly spluttered when a deep voice spoke softly behind him.

"Come here often?"

Duo turned to meet dark blue eyes and a handsome face, a slight smirk on the lips of his ex as he saw Duo nearly choke.

He coughed. "Yeah, just my sort of place."

"This seat taken?"

"No, make yourself comfortable, Heero."

He hopped onto the bar stool beside him and Duo noticed the duffle bag. His eyes scanned down Heero, taking in any differences since their last meeting. It was less than a year ago so there was no dramatic change in appearance. Still unbelievably attractive. Still deep blue eyes. Still worked out – muscles visible underneath the simple v neck knitted sweater. Duo decided to look away rather than check him out as he was never having sex with Heero again. He'd promised himself that.

"I bought you a beer," Duo said as he swirled the liquid around in the bottle, "but I thought you weren't gonna show so I'm drinking it."

"Still alcohol dependent?"

"Still a judgemental jerk?"

The kneejerk insults were easy for Duo. He'd spent a long time perfecting them and since Heero always intended to rile him, he had a long habit of sending back as many verbal barbs as he got. He shook his head and then took another sip.

"Let's not do this."

"This?"

"Our shit. We're done. Over. No more of this crap."

Heero nodded and the bartender came over. He ordered an orange juice and as it was a crappy chain bar he didn't get mocked by the shiny eyed kid who served him. Duo was tempted to make fun of him as he'd done during their relationship for his inability to let loose and just enjoy the freedom of inebriation but then Heero didn't want to lose control. There had been a few occasions - a legendary incident with a bottle of Wild Turkey but Heero didn't do relaxing. Didn't do letting his hair down. But he wasn't going to tease him as Duo had just said he didn't want to do _this_ again. They were twenty six now – they really should stop acting like the hormonal and thick-headed teenage boys they'd been.

"I assume you have a reason for asking me here."

Duo nodded and fished in the front compartment of his backpack and slid over the shuttle ticket. Blue eyes studied it as Duo downed the rest of his second beer.

"Sanc?"

"Yup, Sanc."

"Elaborate."

He sighed at the stiff and mission sounding voice as he retrieved his tablet. He flicked it on quickly and brought up the relevant page and then passed it to Heero knowing he was a smart guy. He'd figure it out himself.

The first screen showed a passport picture.

"Eli Bloom."

"Did you know Trowa had a nephew?" Duo asked.

"I haven't spoken to Trowa for nearly eight years."

"Not since you fucked him, right?"

Heero shot a powerful glare at the comment. They'd never discussed what had happened immediately after their break up and Rio but Duo had been worried at the time. Heero was so… cold, closed, off the deep end and when he walked out one night after a meaningless and cold fuck, he'd worried that he was going to self-destruct. Heero didn't cover his footsteps like he did now – didn't spend his time electronically making himself a ghost and Duo had only needed to do some brief research to discover where Heero had gone – Germany. Then it had not taken much to find out that Trowa's circus was in that particular country and he'd put two and two together. Duo wasn't as blind and stupid as Heero thought. He'd known that they'd had their fling during the war after Heero's self-destruction and he never made a big deal out of it. He could have gone there with Quatre. He just didn't because blondie was too pure for his blood-stained hands. Or so he'd perceived at the time. It had taken him longer to realise Quatre wasn't the innocent little boy who wanted friendship.

Duo sometimes wondered how they'd all managed to fight a war with the amount of fucking each other they'd done – it all seemed far too complicated. Only Wufei had been above it all. Still was as he'd expressed that he didn't really want to see any of them anymore.

They didn't speak as Heero read the first screen. It was the official information. Eli Bloom. Born in Marseilles, France in the year AC 201 to Catherine Bloom. The box that said father was blank. Next of kin was Trowa Barton. Duo started fiddling with the label on the other beer bottle as Heero flicked to the next screen.

It featured many, many pictures from surveillance feeds of Eli Bloom with both his mother and his uncle. Trowa didn't look all that different – he was taller yet his body had filled out so that he was less lanky than during the wars. He seemed a little more casual, his clothes all seemed to have a faded, vintage quality but the ever-present bang of hair still covered the one eye. Eli was very much Catherine's son in appearance but even if the surveillance feeds there was a certain shyness about the boy that could be perceived. He hung back. He held onto hands of either Trowa and Catherine tightly. A little quiet boy – a boy like neither of them had been allowed to be. Heero flicked again and Duo glanced at the page as blue eyes absorbed the information.

"Alexei Nabokov – I assume the father?" Heero asked.

Duo nodded. "One father who just sent four mercs to kidnap Eli and kill Catherine. Makes you kinda grateful for the lack of family, don't it?"

Heero grunted.

Duo rolled his eyes. 'Always such an amazing conversationalist,' he thought.

The first page gave a very brief outline of who Nabokov was and a picture of the man in a black suit, his longish black hair slicked back off his face and finishing at the nape of his neck. Nabokov was thirty two and fabulously wealthy. The first bits of information were public record. He was an oligarch – a rich and influential new wave of Russian businessmen and had made his money in property. He was a self-made man having been raised in a one room apartment in St. Petersburg with three siblings and much was made of the "life-affirming" side to his story. He now owned an exclusive brand of vodka, an English soccer team and a stake in a basketball team in the NBA. He was a well-known philanthropist in his own country, giving generously to children's charities and helping young families. So far, so perfect.

It mentioned that he dated Hollywood starlets and supermodels but had never married and had no children. When Duo had first read the information when Trowa had contacted him six months, he didn't understand how the hell Catherine Bloom had met Alexei Nabokov, never mind had sex with him. It all seemed a little far-fetched. But the story went that the circus performed privately for one of Nabokov's niece's birthday parties and Catherine had been asked to meet the Russian businessman after the show. From there, Duo knew very little and had to ask Trowa whether it was a long term affair or a one night stand. He really didn't want to say something out of turn in front of Catherine Bloom. She had knives.

The further information was where it got interesting. Duo could see Heero had swiped through all the boring intel and had got to the juicy and illegal stuff that Cypher had dug up. Alexei was an arms dealer. He had links with the Russian mafia. He was a notorious womaniser. He had killed at least a handful of people. Put bluntly, he was a badass. And that had made Duo call Heero.

He hadn't intended to call Heero – to head down to earth and help Trowa out himself. He didn't know what or how he was going to help but he was going to just land dirt-side and work it out. He'd been known for his often chaotic and impulsive nature in the wars and he was good at improvising. But when he'd read this stuff… Duo knew that four mercs were just the beginning. Heero had finished reading the documents and he downed the orange juice making Duo snort under his breath.

"Ready to go save the day and help Tro' out?" Duo asked.

"Please tell me I am not sitting next to you on the shuttle."

"Naw, you're in an exit seat and I'm half way down the back of the shuttle. I know how much I irritate you in confined spaces."

"There were moments in confined spaces when you were less… irritating."

Duo noticed the feral spark in blue eyes even though it was brief. A feeling made its way through his skin, an electricity that ended in his stomach. He guessed he was referring to Peacemillion and the encounter in Deathscythe's cockpit. Hell, there were other confined spaces – Preventer interrogation rooms, shuttle bathrooms, a weapons supply closet… but defiling the memory of his buddy was the most memorable. He always wondered why they'd never fucked in Wing Zero and it was _his _Gundam that he had to clean cum off the control panels. It had always been at Heero's convenience their sexual history. A shiver went through his body and there was a moment that he thought he could just go "fuck it" and reach for Heero again. Do that again. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. But no.

Instead of responding, Duo grabbed his bag and put away the tablet. They could go there. They'd gone there plenty of times since they'd officially broken up but it was rough, harsh, and the last time Duo had felt the hands around his throat that were too tight… he'd got the distinct impression that Heero might kill him. He'd screamed him out of the motel room that time and was determined not to have meaningless and mechanical sex with Heero again. Though his body was betraying him at least for a second. There was too much history between them. Over a decade of it. And Heero was, though he hated the sappiness of the statement, Duo's first love. They'd never been very good at the couple thing but they always had a twisted and toxic version of love between them. It never quite went away. Duo had come to conclusion it never would. In his own little way, he'd always love Heero Yuy and it showed how emotionally damaged he was.

"We should go to the shuttle gate."

"Lead the way, 'Ro."

As he grabbed his backpack, he smiled to himself. Yeah, it was a very good reason that they were not sitting anywhere near each other on the shuttle. They either spent their time fucking or fighting and right now there was no time for either when they had to help Trowa out.

Duo left a small tip and followed Heero out of the ugly chain bar to the shuttle gate.

'Time to go dirt-side.'


	5. Chapter 5

Warnings: Swearing, yaoi, violence, hints of long past NCS

Pairings: Primarily 3x2, past/presentish 1x2, past 3x4 and 1x3x1

A/N: Massive apologies to those that have followed this fic for the delay in updates – Domino took priority for a while but I am committed to completing this fic and I am aiming for a quicker speed of updates in the future. Much of this fic is drafted in a very rough way so now that I'm working on it again, it should all fall into place pretty quickly. Anyway, on with the show…

**Chapter Five**

**Rendezvous**

"Trowa, you can relax now."

He felt a hand on his own and felt an involuntary twitch of muscles at the feel of Catherine's hand – it was a natural jerky motion that came from not having enough sleep and being too on edge for too many consecutive days. The plane had taken off, the greyish tarmac and general gloominess of Prague had disappeared out of the small window and they had levelled off in the air.

Trowa knew, logically, that he should be able to relax now. He had no problems with air travel despite disliking not being in control – he knew that commercial pilots were well trained and he knew the stringent policies for recruitment among airline and space shuttle firms. His anxiety should have abated now they were on board and out of reach for the hour long flight to New Port City's air and shuttle port. It _should_ have. It was unlikely that Nabokov could make any attempt to kidnap Eli on a European Airlines flight – a flight heading for Sanc, and that was what Catherine thought. But Trowa could still think like a terrorist when necessary and now was one of those times. Nabokov could have people aboard and they could just be waiting. Or he could just have a small team hijack the plane and blow it – but then he wanted Trowa and Catherine dead, not Eli and they were working on the assumption that the so called loving and caring father wouldn't want anything to happen to the boy.

It was difficult to feel relaxed as Trowa sat in the aisle seat, Catherine next to him and Eli at the window – an attempt to create a barrier, a first line of defence just in case there was anyone with ulterior motives as he spent his time calculating potential targets like he'd not done for years.

"Get some sleep," Catherine said gently.

"Yeah."

He agreed as it was getting frustrating to be in their current situation and the unbelievably close proximity. It seemed Catherine had finally allowed him such luxuries at privacy and space in the past few years, or at least, since her focus of maternal worry was now her son rather than her "little brother" but now they'd been too close for the last few days.

In tiny hotel rooms, places without security cameras and were happy to accept cash without another glance, in tiny, dirty cafes, in a series of cars that Trowa had dumped and obtained new ones without a thought for jimmying the lock and hot-wiring them. There were a lot of useful skills he'd learnt as a merc and stealing cars was one of them.

He closed his eyes and pushed his head back into the seat rest in an attempt to get comfortable and tried to block out the world around him. Eli was talking quietly alongside Catherine, Leo the imaginatively named stuffed lion was helping him colour in and for the first time in days he sounded like a little boy. Trowa had wanted to make a comment about Leo's, about mobile suits but despite Eli seeing him kill men, steal cars and be on guard at all times, Catherine still thought it was inappropriate for them to talk about Trowa's skills and past in front of the boy. So Leo the lion it was without any references to mobile suits.

They'd not brought any toys with them when they'd made their escape from the circus and once in the airport, the security of thousands of cameras and guards and too many people meant he was sure Nabokov couldn't try anything so they had relaxed for a short while. And that gave them an opportunity to treat Eli like the kid he was and let him pick whatever toys he wanted.

"The lion, please."

Confronted with a wide array of toys, remote controlled and loud and damn noisy things, Eli had picked a stuffed lion and for some reason the choice pained Trowa. He'd never had a home, no belonging except among those merc groups but Eli did. A very unconventional home that moved and a very strange selection of people but the circus had been home. It had been Trowa's home since leaving Quatre behind all those years ago and now they were running far from it all because of Nabokov.

He shifted in the airline seat, too small for his tall frame, and tried to sleep. The flight was short but he'd not truly slept since Catherine's scream woke him up in the flimsy tents of the circus so he needed it. He'd stayed awake in the hotel rooms, a gun across his lap and let Catherine and Eli sleep while his own nerves wouldn't let him catch more than a few moments when he could no longer resist the urge to close his eyes.

Trowa, like all of the Gundam pilots, could live for days without sleep or little sleep. Catching minutes in cockpits between battles had been a norm. The time aboard Peacemillion had been finding corners to sleep in and taking a few hours when possible between mobile doll attacks. Those memories were sharp and not conducive to sleep so he tried to forget being aboard Peacemillion, when he and Quatre had something – when he'd walked through the Gundam hanger to hear noises from Deathscythe Hell's cockpit and became aware enough of whatever was going on between Heero and Duo was happening as he could hear moans, groans and muffled voices through an open Gundam hatch.

A feeling had rose in his stomach at hearing those noises – knowing that he and Heero had once… but that was a long time ago, Trowa thought now. A lot had happened since then, the relationship between himself and Quatre that had failed. Heero and Duo had walked away from one another. Heero walking into the circus after that holding all the possessions he'd taken from the life he'd formed with Duo in a backpack and wanting something that Trowa could never give him. And they'd kissed hard and it had meant something and nothing at the same time.

It was so long since those days. He'd not seen Heero for eight years. Duo for longer. Not been the five of them since last time he'd been in Sanc. The circus didn't go to Sanc - the permits and restrictive laws on travelling entertainment and fees meant that Ring Master avoided the Kingdom so it felt strange, odd, to be travelling towards it. The beacon of peace and hope – rebuilt and renewed.

The last time he'd been in Sanc, there had been some reunion event, a year after the Eve War and they'd stayed at the apartment that they would be heading towards once they landed. It had made Trowa raise an eyebrow when he'd seen the rendezvous location – a familiar address on a familiar street. It surprised him that Duo still owned the apartment that he had shared with Heero when they'd settled down and first worked for the Preventers. It seemed like holding onto a life that was now long gone – a life they could've had. Trowa had eliminated all ties to Quatre. Didn't answer calls, changed his number, dedicated the rest of his life to the circus and the performances, the maintenance of the jeeps and trucks, the animals and forgot the past. As he moved in his seat, looking cautiously around the cabin through one green eye open to a slit, he realised he'd never quite forgotten.

That night had shown the cracks between the five of them. He and Quatre had barely spoken to each other. Duo had got drunk and annoyed Heero. Wufei had wisely decided to avoid their squabbles – already starting to distance himself before his big statement that he did not wanted to be reminded about the war and was off to teach at a university in Beijing. And Trowa remembered being in the spare room of Heero and Duo's apartment, alone and drunk as Quatre had spent all the event being the social butterfly, networking and showing Trowa that he had outgrown him – that he did not need him. So Trowa had stood at the corner of the room and steadily drank more of the passing champagne until it was decided they all needed to leave and he went to bed thinking how Quatre had changed. How _they_ had changed. How they weren't the same boys that had fought a war.

Quatre had needed him in the war, big blue eyes pleading and asking him to make him forget the blood and the bodies and his guilt. He'd responded - raining kisses over jaw and soft skin and running fingers through blond hair. And it was ironic or something that Quatre begged Trowa to make him forget when it was he who did forget.

But then, he was left on the bed in the dark spare room, listening, and being talked about and he knew Duo was drunker than he was but was not in bed yet. Or maybe he was a different kind of drunk. Not sombre. Not even more silent.

And there was that argument between the three awake former pilots and he heard those words.

"You gotta tell him, Quatre! You can't just keep him around while you're meant to be marrying some chick! It ain't fucking fair."

He'd sat up the darkness, his head swimming as he did so, and thought about getting up and saying something – he'd known that Quatre was getting pressure from the family and the company. Knew it but didn't realise it was that strong or that maybe Quatre had consented to something. Maybe creating distance to make it easier, to make the final break easier but somehow even lying in a darkened room, alone, it didn't feel easier.

The voices decreased in volume and he could hear the more muffled sound of a deeper voice – Heero's but then a voice increased in volume again.

"Don't shit around! I'd _die _if Heero left me!"

The words were melodramatic and he didn't hear much else. His body clock told him ten minutes passed when Quatre finally opened the door to the darkened room, light hitting the bed but he turned and pretended to sleep and listened to the rumblings of whatever argument between Heero and Duo was going on in the room next door.

"Trowa?"

He'd heard Quatre speak, quiet, concerned – like the boy that he'd maybe, stupidly, fallen in love with during a war but he'd remained silent and kept his breathing quiet. Done this as a child, making sure that some of the men thought he was sleeping so that they would leave him alone and it deceived even the empath. He heard clothing being shed in the darkness, the suit, dropping to the floor and the sudden depression in the bed of another body laying down but Quatre didn't move towards him like he had in the past – proof again that Trowa had fulfilled his purpose and they slept at opposite sides of the bed as much space between them as possible.

They heard the argument stop in the other room, other noises replacing those – creaking of the bed, quiet grunts and moans as though there was an attempt to think of the guests on the other side of the wall who slept in the same bed but were so far apart from one another.

They'd not lasted long after that. A few months but Trowa knew that he was better to walk away. Return to Catherine. And Heero and Duo hadn't lasted much longer either. All far too young and far too damaged by wars and violence to work out.

"Ladies and gentleman, we are beginning our descent into New Port City, so please secure all seat belts and replace all tray tables to their upright positions. Thank you for flying European Air."

The announcement over the system brought him back entirely to the present. They weren't those boys pretending to be men anymore – they were men, ten years since the last war and there was something more serious going on than the complicated relationships they'd had with each other. Trowa stirred in his seat which alerted Catherine to the fact he was awake, not that he'd really slept, only drifted on the edges and thought about the past. Eli was staring out of the small window, explaining to the lion how they were landing as the first sight of New Port City appeared from the window.

"Did you sleep?"

"Yeah."

It was better to lie to her and say he had. She'd only start telling him he shouldn't drive when they landed and he sure as hell was not going to use a cab or let Catherine drive. He'd drive. There was no giving away control now.

Her hand gripped his forearm and he met her eyes fully.

"We'll be safe in Sanc?"

He nodded in an attempt to be reassuring. He didn't think they'd truly be safe in Sanc but Duo was back up and two former Gundam pilots would be better than one. The only way he saw them being safe was if Nabokov was dead and he didn't need to tell Catherine his thoughts on that. He'd talk to Duo. Someone with a more flexible view on morality. Someone like him. Catherine didn't need to know his thoughts – the thoughts of ending a man's life with his bare hands – things he hadn't done for years until those mercs as he'd thought he'd left those things behind.

"And we can trust Duo?" Catherine asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "You barely know him."

Trowa frowned. He hadn't contemplated whether he actually trusted Duo. He just assumed he did. It was true that they didn't know each other well but that didn't matter. He was a Gundam pilot. Quatre had trusted him. Heero had been his lover. Those two he had trusted so he went along with their judgement of the former Deathscythe pilot. He thought shrugging would be an unwelcome gesture so he just spoke quietly.

"Yeah."

This seemed enough for Catherine who turned back towards Eli and leaving Trowa to think as the plane began its final descent. Duo had come through for them without question – arranged the meeting in Prague, got the plane tickets, the fake IDs, the rental car on the other side and done more than he should, given up his own life, whatever the hell his current occupation was, and was willing to help. He had to trust Duo. Because if he didn't… there was no one but him to protect Eli.

The landing was smooth and thankfully the passengers who took this flight were hardened travellers rather than tourists. There was no clapping at the smooth landing – Trowa had never understood why people did that – it was the pilot's job, therefore, they were competent. They didn't need clapping for performing such a simple task - it wasn't like a circus performance which was for entertainment. Trowa grabbed their belongings from the overhead lockers and made them wait for a while as other travellers departed so that he could see any suspicious activity though the waiting made Catherine impatient and Eli even more so.

Finally, they left the plane and entered the airport, travelling through customs and immigration with little hassle, pretending they were a family. They carried only hand luggage with them to avoid the trauma of luggage conveyer belts. They'd dumped everything prior to boarding that was unnecessary including Trowa's gun and knife – he felt naked without them, more vulnerable than ever without a weapon but he knew that Duo would have weapons – if his occupation wasn't legal, access to firearms was a given.

His skin prickled as they walked through and Trowa had the distinct impression they were being observed but it could be paranoia – the paranoia of a man without enough sleep. Catherine was right in some ways. It was not good for him to be like this. Wired. Living off adrenaline and caffeine.

The rental car line wasn't as easy as customs and immigration, the staff slow and rude, testing Trowa's patience and his anxiety level. Catherine ended up having to speak because Trowa was sure he may have tried to kill the guy behind the counter, grab him by his cheap white collared shirt and strangle him with his own tie. Mercifully, the drive wasn't long to the apartment complex, centrally located, supposed to be convenient to the Preventer Field Office and the government buildings.

They pulled up, the building old and red brick, rebuilt and remodelled into an apartment complex after the whole rebuilding of the Kingdom project and Trowa saw the figure waiting, leaning against the wall, casual and easily missed. His clothing predominantly black apart from the white collar of his jacket, the braid was pushed down the back of that jacket so that the distinctive feature was not visible and for all the world he looked completely unremarkable. A young man casually leaning against a wall minding his own business. But he wasn't. Trowa knew that.

Duo nodded and another man slipped from the shadows, unfamiliar as Duo walked towards the car, motioning that they should get out rather than park up. Trowa pressed the button to open the windows and Duo leaned in to speak.

"I gotta guy to clean the car and taking it back so you guys just need to get inside, 'kay?"

Clean the car. It probably meant taking the prints off it or it could mean torching it for all Trowa knew – that would effectively remove any traces of DNA or identity. He supposed all the ID documentation he'd used to collect the car had been entirely falsified so that it shouldn't trace back so he nodded, getting out and handing the keys to a young man who took them without any words to Trowa but he did look back at Duo.

"Half before the job. Half after. You know the fucking rules – Cypher told ya when you took the job."

His voice had been quiet, quiet enough that Catherine hadn't heard as she fussed over getting Eli out of the car along with Leo and the little amounts of possessions they had. Trowa would have to warn Duo about a hell of a lot – no mentioning the war, no swearing and don't bring up the more serious side of Nabokov. But it would have to wait as Trowa wanted to be inside, feeling exposed even in the heart of the world's most famous pacifist nation and heading into the home of two former terrorists.

Eli looked cautiously at Duo and seemed unwilling to move, clutching onto Catherine as the rental car pulled away. It was true that Eli wasn't the most outgoing of kids but it was unusual for him to act so clingy to Catherine.

"Hey, you must Eli."

Duo seemed to know something about kids. Knelt down on the side walk so that he wasn't as tall in comparison, less adult and less intimidating, a reassuringly wide smile on his face.

"I'm Duo… your Uncle Trowa told me a lot about you."

It wasn't a lie, exactly, but really only Trowa had told him was that Eli was five and his dad was a uncaring and dangerous bastard but it seemed to work a little as Eli glanced towards Trowa who nodded to confirm Duo's story and show that the strange man could be trusted. He supposed it was a well-founded fear of strangers since the kidnap attempt.

"You're gonna stay with me for a while and I'm gonna help out your Uncle Tro'. That okay?"

The boy looked at his mother who gave him a smile.

"Okay," the boy said finally.

"Cool! I'm sure I got some toys and some cartoons or something in the apartment, you wanna see?"

Eli nodded with more enthusiasm and held Leo tight.

"Then follow me to the grand tour of the Casa del Maxwell!"

The grand tour was nothing more than arriving at the third floor to a pretty standard but bare apartment. Two bedrooms. The only thing that betrayed the situation was a desk set up in the living area with two laptops showing security feeds from locations both within and outside the apartment. It was high end gear as Trowa could barely see the cameras despite being able to determine the angles from the images on the screens. Duo had shown Catherine and Eli to the master bedroom, leaving Trowa to lean against a grey couch and not be assaulted by the memory of the last time he was in the place. Couldn't imagine what it was like to be Duo and have so many memories here…

"You look like shit Tro'," Duo said, as he'd returned minus Eli and Catherine.

"Thanks," he responded, dryly.

"Well, you know me, brutal honesty and all."

In his tired state, Trowa had no response but couldn't help a small smile curving his lips – over eight years since he'd seen Duo in the flesh and this was their first conversation face to face. There was something funny about it if he thought about it but right now he was too damned tired.

"Take the spare room," Duo continued. "Get some sleep before you fucking crash. I got this. Ain't anyone getting through me."

Finally, Trowa agreed to sleep, reassured that with Duo here there was another line of defence for Eli and he could finally try and get some rest.


	6. Chapter 6

Warnings: Swearing, yaoi, violence, hints of long past NCS,

Pairings: Primarily 3x2, past/presentish 1x2, past 3x4 and 1x3x1

Beta: Ellewrites

**Chapter Six**

**The Pact**

The apartment was quiet and Duo sat with his feet up on the desk by the laptops with security feeds running. He was sure Heero would bitch about his boots being in the same vicinity as the expensive equipment but Heero was on the roof and wasn't in the apartment.

"'Ro, status report, over?"

"No activity, over."

"You want some coffee, over?"

"No, over."

"Do we have to do the over shit, over?"

He got a slight grunt, a thing that indicated Heero found him amusing and that in his own tiny way he appreciated Duo's humour. Not that he would actually laugh at a joke – Heero's laugh was a rare thing and mainly maniacal.

"No."

"I can swap, you know, you can have the feeds and I'll sit up there with the sniper rifle."

The response was terse. "I'm fine, Duo."

"Fine, freeze your balls off up there for all I care."

That signalled the end of the conversation. They were being cordial. More than that, they were being vaguely friendly towards one another but it was difficult being in close proximity. Too much shit and in this apartment... that just made it a hell of a lot worse.

Heero had not said much when they arrived. Looked around to see it was like it had been when he'd left and then ignored the whole emotional issue of this being their apartment. The apartment they'd shared when they were still a couple who worked together and lived together and fucked. It was all a lifetime ago. He just started putting up the surveillance equipment leaving Duo to check the rooms, open windows to let in fresh air and turn on appliances. There was not much to say – this had been their apartment. A few bottles of alcohol in a cupboard that Duo examined – thinking he might need it with spending time around Heero – and that was it. Duo had removed all the identifiers of their life after Heero didn't come back. And he knew he shouldn't have kept the place – drained him financially, not that it mattered being that the killing people business generally paid pretty well, but he shouldn't have held onto this place as it wasn't a home. It was a mausoleum to a fucked up relationship. Empty. Cold. And full of regret.

He'd left Heero to his set up – wondered how the hell Heero got all the shit he did. His contacts were better than Duo's – better than Cypher though he wouldn't tell the dude that. He was surprised that Heero wasn't walking around in Kevlar body armour and in full black ops gear. Duo had retraced his steps around Sanc, finding the grocery store and buying essentials and feeling like the chick in the situation but he stopped on the toy aisle and figured that Eli was a kid and kids liked toys. He stopped and saw tiny little mobile suit replicas and action figures of some cartoon characters he didn't know and picked them up. It proved he was still a nice guy somewhere underneath the whole hit man thing.

His thoughts were suddenly interrupted when the communicator crackled again.

"I'm coming down."

"'Kay."

Duo knew why he was coming down now – Heero had probably calculated that everyone was asleep and he was maintaining distance not just from him but from everybody in the damn apartment. Trowa didn't even know Heero was here – hell, Catherine and Eli didn't as it seemed that Heero found it easier being on the roof than actually being in an apartment with an ex, a man he'd slept with, a woman who'd thrown knives at him and a kid. For Heero this was his own personal hell – complicated interpersonal relationships. And a child. Duo knew that kids had always been an issue – supposed that was the fun of not having ever been allowed to be one – that Heero just didn't understand miniature human beings and saw them as an alien species. When they'd been together, he'd gently teased and cajoled him into speaking to colleague's children but that was a long time ago. Duo really wasn't sure how he'd react to Eli. Yes, Eli was quiet and had been well behaved and just sat in front of a cartoon but he was still a kid.

The door opened, proceeded by a rhythmic knock to confirm to Duo that it was not an enemy – but then, he was sure even if Nabokov scrambled the feeds or hid so damn well in the five minutes it took for Heero to be down the stairs to the third floor they would just burst through the doors so the warning seemed stupid. Old war time paranoia resurfacing. It seemed strange to be thinking in terms of enemies again.

Heero entered the apartment, scanned it with methodical precision and then walked to the kitchen without a second glance towards Duo.

'Charming,' Duo thought but figured it was probably better that way. Maintaining distance and all.

As the screens had shown nothing more interesting than a drunk chick a few hours ago who had been dropped off in a cab and had issues with both walking in heels and the tight dress she was wearing, Duo got up, for some reason snagged his gun from the desk top, and joined Heero in the kitchen.

He leaned against the door for a second before entering. Apartments in Sanc were generally of the European model and the housing was expensive. The kitchen was a separate room, tiny and not somewhere two people could be in comfortably without touching and for a second Duo wondered why'd he'd followed but then as he watched Heero's careful precise movements around the small space, he guess he knew. He figured they needed to talk despite Heero's usual reticence at such things.

"There's only shit coffee," he said, closing the door a little and jumping up onto the counter as he'd have done when he was seventeen and this was their place.

He'd only bought necessities when he'd gone to the store or things he figured a kid liked. Chocolate cereal. Coffee. Milk. Bread. Cheese. Eggs. Nothing exciting but shit if he knew how long they'd be cooped up in the apartment and he needed to talk to Trowa before they worked out the duration of the stay.

He watched Heero move around the confined space, his careful movements as he spooned cheap coffee granules into a mug, recently rinsed to get rid of the dust that had collected, and then poured the boiling water from the kettle. The normality of the moment seemed out of step and weird. The things that Duo had just left, the everyday things, being used again after years of apartment being unattended apart from the cleaning company who checked it monthly.

The small space meant that there was little room between them as Heero turned and leaned, holding the coffee cup in his hand, cradled as though to warm him.

"You kept this place."

"Wondered how long it was gonna take ya to say somethin'."

Heero grunted and took a sip of the coffee which would still be too hot and looked around the familiar room. He never bothered with milk in his coffee – took it black. Strange the things Duo remembered.

There was nothing left that identified the apartment as their place – the appliances and glasses and plates were all things they'd had to buy as that was required and Duo had left them – thinking maybe, one day, he'd come back for some fucked up reason. But the fridge door had no images on it like Duo had put there when they'd lived in the space – no stupid mobile suit shaped fridge magnets – and the plant that had managed to survive that had lived on the windowsill had been thrown in the trash. Duo wondered if memories of the place assaulted Heero like they did him – painting the walls, lazy Sundays in bed, cooking in the space with some success and regular sex without anger and aggression.

"Why?"

Duo looked up and realised he'd been a million miles away. Or maybe not, just a million years ago. He refocused his eyes on Heero whose eyes were carefully avoiding his.

"Huh?"

Heero rolled his eyes impatiently. "Why did you keep this place?"

"That's the million dollar question, ain't it?"

"You thought we'd…" Heero's voice drifted.

Duo figured he wanted to say "get back together" or "settle back down" or hell "become room mates with the added benefit of fucking" but Heero didn't complete his sentence. Took another sip of the coffee and put the mug down on the counter.

"Hell no, 'Ro. I figured the day you went and fucked Tro kinda burnt the bridge for normal relationship shit. And our fucking the last few years was getting to the point where one of us was gonna end up dead so, no, this ain't some screwed up love letter to you. We don't exist anymore."

"Then why?"

"I wanted a property portfolio," Duo said with a shrug and a smirk.

They stood in silence but Heero didn't move – Duo expected him to drink the coffee and go back to the roof – he was about to suggest that he should eat but he figured Heero probably had a supply of power bars or other nutritionally balanced but tasteless shit that meant he could maintain his post with minimal trips down to the apartment but then other words slipped out of his mouth. He decided it was just the place. The memoires that clung to the walls despite the fact Duo thought he'd stripped any meaning from the apartment – anything that related to a relationship that ended with them unable to even look each other in the eye.

"You ever gonna forgive me for Rio?"

"I already forgave you," Heero said, his words slow and deliberate. "I just never could forgive myself."

"You forgave me?"

Heero nodded, stormy blue eyes meeting Duo's for the first time in what seemed like forever.

"I just couldn't look at you after that… see that look in your eyes. It's all I could see."

"I didn't blame you."

"I wish you had."

Duo laughed, the harshness of it startling even himself – too bitter. "Shit. Think we should've talked about this eight fucking years ago."

They stayed silent for a few minutes – Duo stared at his boots rather than Heero or the surroundings and tried not to think about Rio. The sound of gunfire and the smell of explosives and the gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach that meant failure…

"You said you'd die if I left you," Heero stated.

"Yeah, I remember that," he replied in a beat despite the slight surprise at the words, "what can I say? I was eighteen and drunk… and being a melodramatic ass."

"You changed… after."

"Easier that way, 'Ro. Just couldn't be him anymore, you know?"

Heero picked up the coffee cup, finished drinking it and then walked to the sink to rinse it out, the size of kitchen forcing his body to brush past Duo's legs as he did. It was clear that was the conversation was over and that he would return to the roof where he would be more comfortable – alone and away from anything that was difficult to deal with emotionally. The small task done, the mug left on the drainer, Heero walked past again, that contact still creating some sort of reaction that Duo couldn't deny and this was the most they'd talked about shit that meant anything for years.

"You know I still love you," he said both regretting the words and not. Had to be said.

Heero stopped on the threshold of the doorway at Duo's words, his shoulders slumped and he didn't turn to look back, only spoke quietly, words barely above a whisper in the silence of the kitchen.

"I love you but one day I'd kill you."

And Heero left the room, leaving Duo sitting on the counter looking down at the tile feeling like a part of his stomach had just dropped out – it was fucked, them, the situation they were in – everything. Every instinct told him to run – just to walk out of the apartment and remember that he'd spent the last eight years running from this. A life he'd tried to have that was normal and functional – maybe being a hit man was all he could be and he was better just running back to L2 and sitting with Cypher and taking whatever job paid the highest rather than be here. But he'd promised Trowa – promised that he'd help that kid who'd sat in front of some cartoon and quietly hugged a lion toy and he couldn't walk away from that. Not when some asshole wanted to do god knows what to that kid. It made him shiver.

He was about to return to his post and the feeds when the silence of the apartment was broken and Duo instinctively reached for the gun in his pocket. He hopped down and positioned himself into a more battle ready stance. It didn't matter that logic told him who was moving about, it was better to be prepared and Trowa walked too damn quiet for a man of that height and build. He'd not spent a lot of time around Trowa but knew he was a sneaky bastard, probably as sneaky as he was, and he walked with eerily silent footfalls. Duo could calculate size and the potential target from people's steps but Trowa walked more gracefully than a man like he should. It was disconcerting.

The figure appeared at the open doorway and Duo lowered his weapon, securing it back in his pocket, the safety back on.

"You done sleeping?" Duo asked, his voice oddly strained as he tried to sound light-hearted.

Duo blinked as his gaze landed fully on Trowa, dressed only in black shorts, hair mussed. He realised he was probably damn staring but Trowa was all muscle, more so than Heero, broader, paler and more defined. A few scars littered his body as they all had – old and new. Old from the wars. New could be from him being in the circus. The whole concept of Trowa being in the circus still made Duo want to chuckle – it just seemed totally weird to know someone who did actually run away with the circus.

"I heard," he began and then faltered, seemingly unsure of what to say next.

The braided man just nodded. "You heard me and Heero?"

"I didn't intend to."

Duo shrugged. They hadn't been talking loudly but then Trowa was probably like all of them – learnt to pick up sounds more acutely than was natural, whatever drugs given to them by their respective doctors enhancing some of their senses. Stuff that had never truly worn off despite the years since the war and training. Things that were never unlearned. Natural as breathing to them.

"Don't worry, buddy, it's ancient history and all. And I totally never had any problem with you and Heero… you know."

He knew he'd usually be cruder and just say fucking but Duo could remember sharing a total of something like five conversations with Trowa and was censoring himself ever so slightly. He'd been doing it all day with the kid around.

"I didn't realise he was here."

"Yeah, well, he's hiding on the roof as that's easier for him, like, it means he doesn't have to spend time around two men he's slept with and he don't do well with kids." He stopped and gave a lopsided smile that wasn't particularly friendly. "And I thought we need him, you know, if Nabokov is gonna try and kidnap Eli again… I think between the three of us he won't have a chance."

He didn't add anything else to that – that both he and Heero would and could kill if Nabokov tried. Duo had no morals about killing some men sent to kidnap a little boy even though he was aware Trowa was struggling with killing those mercs – or more that he'd killed them in front of Eli.

Trowa's face was hard to read and Dup looked away, scanning the kitchen, giving him space. He may not have said anything much but the whole way Trowa stood showed that he was uncomfortable about the entire situation and staring at him didn't help. Despite the fact it was ever so distracting when the guy was that built and shirtless. It was bad for his brain to appreciate that considering the conversation he'd just had with Heero so he diverted his attention to the coffee mug on the drainer, the fridge door, something else.

"I meant to say thanks," Trowa said, finally.

"Hey, Tro, don't worry 'bout it. You asked. I came – I seriously had nothin' better to do. Just be waiting between jobs."

There was no point in elaborating about his jobs so he didn't. Trowa probably already knew what he did was illegal – no one has that amount of available cash at their finger tips legitimately. Unless you were Quatre but that was not someone who Duo would mention in front of Trowa. He didn't know enough about how that relationship had ended but he figured it wasn't pretty.

"You didn't have to."

"Yeah, but I wanted to. Eli's a good kid. He don't need some bullshit dad who didn't want him for the first five fucking years – he needs his mom and you. Not whatever the hell Nabokov wants for him."

They stood in silence until Trowa spoke again, his words slow but the intention behind them clear. "I want him dead."

Blue eyes met green then and Duo looked straight at his face. There was a grim determination there – that look that all of them had before battle. Remembered it from Peacemillion, the only place he'd truly spent any time around the former Heavyarms pilot and there was that look that they all had in those days – waiting for battle, knowing what they had to do and knowing that they could die but not caring. There was also that spark, that thing that maybe Wufei and Quatre had moved on from – but Duo hadn't. Heero hadn't and despite Trowa's initial feelings towards killing for the first time since the war, it was obvious that he hadn't either. That spark that came from the power of life over death and the fire that came from the fight.

"Then we'll work out a way to kill him," Duo said, simply.

It felt like a pact in the middle of the night – in a tiny kitchen in Sanc – and Duo knew it would be the start of a bloody and violent road.


End file.
